Narnia's Tale: A Royal Return
by Always have a little Faith
Summary: After calling upon the old Kings and Queens, Caspian befriends a girl his own age, who knows far more than she should. Together, they ready the troops and prepare for the worst, but will they fall along the way? In love? In evil? Peter/OC, Susan/Caspian
1. The Witch of Aslan's How

_This is my first Narnia story, brought on by watching my new Prince Caspian DVD far too many times, on top of now owning the PS3 game for it. It follows the movie, naturally with my own twists and storylines, and will possibly go further, or into a sequel if responses are good._

_I hope you enjoy, I look forward to hearing you comments and opinions._

_

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_**I: The Witch of Aslan's How.**_  
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It was dark at the Dancing Lawn by the time the meeting took place. The Narnians were in an uproar over some Telmarine that had been allowed to live this far. Why? None of them were sure, and it caused even more frustration amongst them.

But _she_ knew. She always knew. She knew from the moment the horn had come into his possession that the tides were shifting.

If only it were that simple for the rest of them.

"All this horn proves is that they've stolen yet another thing from us!" Nikabrik yelled, causing the crowd to echo their agreement.

"I didn't steal anything," the one called Caspian protested.

"Didn't steal anything?" one of the Minotaurs roared. "Shall we list the things the Telmarines have taken?"

He didn't need to; the Narnians around him spoke up.

"Our homes!"

"Our freedom!"

"Our lives!"

"You would hold me accountable for all the crimes of my people?" Caspian frowned.

"Accountable…and punishable!"

"That's words from you, dwarf!" the mouse, Reepicheep, spoke up. "Or have you forgotten that it was your people who fought alongside the White Witch?"

"And I'd gladly do it again if it would rid us of these barbarians!"

"I'll consider us all lucky it isn't within _your_ power to bring her back," a feminine voice said—the first one Caspian had heard since he'd encountered the Narnians. He looked up to find the source standing on a tree branch, leaning against the trunk.

She was dressed almost entirely in black, from her knee-length laced boots and tattered thigh-length skirt, to her velvet corset worn over a white blouse, and finally her long black cloak. He would've called her a Telmarine Hunter or Scavenger were it not for the girl's fair skin and strawberry blonde hair.

"Besides," she continued, lightly fingering the hilt of a cleverly hidden Falchion beneath her cloak. Her gaze shifted from Caspian to the Narnians. "I'd like to see how this plays through. I have heard the whispers and read the tales…Narnia was never right except when a son of Adam was King."

"He's a Telmarine!"

"What does that matter? Neither Caspian nor I are cut from the same cloth as the Kings and Queens of old, but you treat me as an equal—as a Narnian."

"That's…different," Nikabrik growls, eyes narrowed. "Why would we want _him_ as our King?"

"Because I can help you," Caspian responded. "Beyond these woods, I am a prince. The Telmarine throne is rightfully mine. Help me claim it, and I can bring peace between us."

The redhead smiled at Caspian, before turning to grin to Nikabrik as if to say 'I told you so'. The Dwarf merely grumbled, still doubtful. Swiftly, she leapt down, landing on her feet with nimble grace.

"I'm confident that he speaks the truth," she declared, looking to a tall and well-built Centaur. "Tell me, Glenstorm, are the stars not aligned for it? I know they are yours to watch, as certain things are mine to know."

"She is correct," Glenstorm rumbled. "Tarva, the Lord of Victory, and Alambil, the Lady of Peace have met, and here a son of Adam has come forth to offer us back our freedom."

This caused another uproar, smaller in volume this time, filled with whispers of hope and doubt. _Is it possible? Does he really think there can be peace? Does he? Really?_

"Two days ago, I didn't believe in the existence of talking animals, or Dwarves, or Centaurs. Yet, here you are…in strength and in numbers we Telmarine could never have imagined," he brought up the horn for them to see. "Whether this horn is magic or not, it brought us together. And together, we have a chance to take back what is ours."

The redhead giggled softly, opening her arms to the crowd. "Well, Narnians, what do you say?"

"If you will lead us, then my sons and I offer you our swords!" Glenstorm declared, the Centaurs joining him with their cries.

"And we offer you our lives…unreservedly," Reepicheep bowed.

"On that note, we best get moving, right Caspian?" she turned, smiling at him.

"Uh…yes, absolutely. Miraz' army won't be far behind, and if we are to be ready for them, we must hurry to find soldiers and weapons."

Swiftly, the large group moved out, led by Caspian and Trufflehunter. It was a moment more before the redhead was at his side, and he did his best not to look alarmed, for he hadn't heard her.

"I'm afraid I haven't introduced myself yet," she chuckled, offering him her hand. "Rynne. Rynne Kairos."

"Caspian the Tenth, thanks for the vote of confidence back there," he smiled, shaking her hand. He gasped when little colorful shocks passed from her hand to his, and he frowned. She erupted in a fit of mischievous giggles.

"You'll have to excuse Rynne, she's a bit of a handful," Trufflehunter said warmly.

"Am not!"

"Likes to use her magic to trick people when she needn't be serious."

"Magic?" Caspian frowned, eyeing her as the stories of old filled his brain. "You're…you're a…"

She suddenly looked quite flustered. "A Witch? Uh, yes…yes I am."

"But aren't they supposed to be—"

"A myth?" Rynne suggested, quite aware that wasn't what he had been about to say. _Evil, perhaps? Why yes, __**she**__ was, but __**I'm**__ trying to change that, thank you._ "Caspian, I don't believe you can count the amount of creatures you met tonight that are supposed to be a myth."

"I suppose you're right," he chuckled, and matching one another stride for stride, they talked of many things. Treading lightly, they made it out of the forest and into a beautiful clearing in no time.

They walked a path of stones that stretched out from the forest, all leading up to a large stone structure. Caspian stared in awe. It was simple, built with several layers of crudely carved rock slabs, but he could sense the magic that enveloped it.

He could sense what a treasure this place was.

"What is this place?" he inquired breathlessly.

"_Aslan's How_," Rynne replied softly. "If you've read the stories of old like you say, then you'll know what the _Hill of the Stone Table_ is, yes?"

"The place where the Witch—" he noticed how she cringed slightly here "—supposedly killed Aslan before her followers."

"Correct," Rynne nodded, ignoring the annoyed growl from Nikabrik behind her. "After Aslan rose again, it is said the Stone Table became a Sacred Place, highly respected by the Kings and Queens. Once they disappeared from Narnia and the Telmarine invaded, the Narnians wished to protect the Stone Table fragments from harm and desecration, so they built this mound to conceal it."

"You mean the Stone Table is within this fortress?" Caspian breathed, staring with wide eyes at the structure.

Nodding, Rynne continued. "It is a safe place to shelter. And if we are to ready ourselves for a territorial battle against your Uncle, this is a sturdy enough base."

"Thank you. For believing in me…and for supporting me."

"I believe in you, because I **know** you are what is right for Narnia, Caspian," she told him as the troops (if they could be called that at this point) stopped before the fortress.

"You told the Centaur—Glenstorm I believe?–that certain things were yours to know," Caspian pondered aloud. "You hold knowledge far beyond your age, don't you? Witch or not."

Her mischievous smile was all he needed for an answer; before she flitted away, disappearing inside Aslan's How. Trufflehunter shuffled up beside him.

"Trufflehunter…," Caspian began, still staring at the path the girl had taken. "Aren't witches supposed to be…well…evil?"

"Oh," the badger chuckled, making a passive motion with one of his paws. "That's all Jadis' fault. After the White Witch's reign in Narnia, Witches unfortunately bore the brand of evil, whether they were or not. And with so many Hags, it's no wonder."

"After Jadis fell and the four Kings and Queens began the Golden Age of Narnia, it wasn't uncommon for Witches to be hunted by superstitious Narnians. The Kings and Queens didn't approve, so none of it happened publicly, and it worsened when they left, until the Witches either vanished or were hunted to nothing."

"So how…"

"About three hundred years ago, in the Narnian year 2000, it is said that they appeared again. No one is sure how, or from where, but the magic rose again. Some believe it is a solitary line of witches that hid away for years, holding power over some of the Deepest Magic."

"And Rynne is a part of this line?"

"I think she's the _last_," Trufflehunter stated sadly. "I've known Rynne her whole life, since I found her as a little girl wandering the woods. I took her in, raised her with some of the others, and I've never met, nor has she ever mentioned any family."

Caspian looked up then, seeing her in the doorway to the fortress, kneeling down to talk to Reepicheep. She looked quite at home, a part of this place, this beautiful world. He realized then that they were quite alike—no family, holding on to the hope of making this world better.


	2. The Hall of History

**II: Hall Of History.  
**

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She found him in the Hall of History.

Truthfully, Rynne wasn't surprised to find him here. After all, he'd heard the stories; read of their history…it was only a matter of time before he came across the hall that had all of it engraved. It was a winding hallway, with pictures carved into the wall at intervals, depicting the prophecy of the Pevensie children and how it had played out.

Running her fingers over the images as she walked towards Caspian, she recited them aloud. There were no words on the carvings, only drawings, but she too knew the history set into these walls. As well as she knew the back of her hand. "Lucy and Tumnus at the lamppost… Edmund and Queen Jadis, the White Witch… Father Christmas with Lucy, Susan and Peter… Aslan's death upon the Stone Table… the battle of Beruna and Aslan's rise… the Pevensies being crowned Kings and Queens of Narnia."

"And what of this?" Caspian asked, a little further ahead, hand resting on the wall.

"The Kings and Queens, and the White Stag?" she breathed, knowing full well that was the carving in between them, not the one he had fallen upon. As he looked up at her, the pointed glance said he knew it, too. "That..."

"This is me, isn't it?" he inquired, a bit louder this time. "This is me after I fell from my horse and blew the horn to call upon _them_."

"Yes."

"And this…," his hand slid sideways to the unfinished carving, beneath which lay a chisel she was quite familiar with. The drawing was crude, only slightly started, but Caspian was there. There were other shapes of people, and it looked as though he was holding a sword at someone, who was holding a sword back at him. "What's this?"

"You will know once the sun rises," she breathed, not allowing herself to give him an answer. There were things she knew, things she saw through clouded dreams—things she could not share, just yet.

"You carved these?"

"Only the last two. The ones that depict the Golden Age were done by those who lived it. This is the Hall of History."

"And what of the thousand and three hundred years since the Golden Age ended? Why are they not here?"

"Those were darker times. The fall of Narnia. There is another hall for those drawings. The Hall of Descent," she replied sadly.

"Will you take me?" he asked. "I want to know all there is about the Telmarine ruling—I want to know how to end it."

"I will show you—but first," she walked past him, towards the door at the end of the hall, beside which two torches were strung. She took hold of one. "Would you like to see it? The place where the Deep Magic runs?" Her smile was wide, ecstatic. "It's so close, my whole being tingles."

Hurriedly, he joined her, and she handed him the torch. He followed Rynne into the room, unable to see much of anything in the dark, save for what his small torch illuminated. She fixed that quickly, tough.

"Hold the light there," she instructed, using the light it gave her to reach down into what looked like a small firepot. Quietly, she whispered; "**Inflammo**."

The firepot burst to life, sending flames roaring up. With a flick of her wrist, the flame danced from that pot, soaring into the next, and the next and the next until it had done the whole room, illuminating everything.

Caspian's mouth fell open at some point, eliciting a laugh from Rynne. He stared at the halved Stone Table in awe, at the arches around it, and at the stone statue of Aslan at the back, behind the final arch. It was where stories said he had risen, with the sun, to Queen Lucy and Queen Susan. "It is magnificent."

He stepped forward into the room, taking a deep breath. "I can…I can feel the magic. It's making my fingers tingle. Truly…truly amazing."

"I've always told Trufflehunter you needn't be a Witch to feel the power this place possesses," Rynne said softly, causing Caspian to turn to her.

"How long have you been in his care? In the care of most of my new Narnian friends?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "How…"

"Trufflehunter…he said they'd all raised you as their own, since he'd found you wandering the woods."

She smiled softly. "Leave it to the badger," she chuckled. "Twelve years. I've been amongst the Narnians for twelve years…since that day Trufflehunter found me, wandering the forest alone."

"He said you were only a young girl?"

She nodded. "Six years old."

He blinked a few times, at first because of the young age she'd been alone, without a family, traversing such dangerous woods. Then, it was because in his mind, he did a few necessary calculations.

In the meantime, she walked to one of the firepots, moving her fingers around into intricate patterns that caused a tiny flame to follow, molding to her movements.

"You're older than me," he said suddenly. She looked up, frowning.

"Pardon?"

"You're older than me," he repeated. "You're eighteen, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"Hmm, I'm merely seventeen. I don't turn eighteen for another few months," he mused. Then, as a darkly ironic afterthought, he added; "that's why my uncle wants me dead, I suppose. Because soon I'll be of age to take the throne."

A smile danced across her lips, and Rynne chuckled again. "What?"

"You cannot take to your own throne until you reach a certain age?" she inquired, and when he nodded, her smile grew in an almost teasing manner. "High King Peter was merely sixteen when he ascended his throne. And Susan, Edmund and Lucy were fifteen, thirteen and eleven, respectively."

"Yet another example of the strong difference between my people and yours," Caspian sighed, his eyes raking in the beautiful room with a longing glaze.

"Narnia _is_ your people, Caspian," Rynne offered comforting words, placing a hand on his shoulder. He looked down to meet her green eyes. "Trust me."

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**Author's Note: **Sorry for such a short chapter. It's primarily because the next scene was A - long and B - spoke for itself/is quite important. So, I leave you with slight cliffy.


	3. The Royalty of Narnia

_Right, so I watched Narnia again recently, and being in quite the Medieval mood after a Renaissance Project for school, have decided to take up writing this tale once more. The title has been changed, because to be honest the one before was bland._

_So, in light of that, I give you the continuation of my Narnian story. Review and I'll send you a preview of the next chapter, yeah? I'd love to hear what you all think.  
_**

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III: The Royalty of Narnia**

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At Dawn they set out, a small party of Trufflehunter, Nikabrik, a Minotaur named Asterius, Reepicheep and Glenstorm (the latter of two who had returned from their fruitful weapon raid) as well as Rynne and Caspian.

Rynne and Trufflehunter said they'd wished to pick up some plans and blueprint scrolls from the badger's house before the Telmarines awoke and began searching the forest, but after seeing her half-finished drawing on the walls in the Hall of History, Caspian was anxious to know otherwise.

They were headed back now, a slow and steady pace through the tall grass of the forest. Asterius and Glenstorm led along with Reepicheep, Caspian walked about middle, surveying the area expectantly, and behind him walked Trufflehunter, Rynne and Nikabrik.

The redhead had begun playing with her magic a short time ago, and was bending a series of leaves through the air, mimicking the dryads from stories Trufflehunter had told her about Aslan. How she longed to see such magical creatures, and be in the presence of their power.

"How far d'you think we've got?" Trufflehunter asked her, quite hushed, well aware of their outing's true purpose. "Before we meet them?"

"Not long…," Rynne breathed, smiling as she caused the leaves to swirl around her.

"Please, I think this whole outing's been a waste of time!" Nikabrik hissed, showing yet again his contrasting beliefs to Trufflehunter's undying hope. Although he had the uttermost faith in Rynne and her magic, he thought it folly to search for the Kings and Queens of old. He believed them to be nothing more than myths.

"Nikabrik!" Trufflehunter groaned, exasperated. Rynne merely chuckled.

"It's alright, Trufflehunter. We both know this silly dwarf lost his faith long ago," she giggled, something itching at the back of her mind. She knew they were close.

So close, that she watched the Prince a ways ahead, observing his every move. She remembered her vision, what had brought her to begin her carving in the Hall of History, and she knew it was almost time to meet the Kings and Queens.

The pattern of flight her leaves were taking wavered dips as her anxiousness increased.

_The dirty blond motioned for the petite brunette to remain there and crept out, sword in hand. He was aiming for the Minotaur, a look of battle in his eyes._

Suddenly, a flame erupted in her hands, engulfing the leaves and incinerating them as she took in a sharp breath, stopping in her tracks.

"Rynne?" Trufflehunter frowned. "What is it?"

"Cas, no!" she cried, all too late, as the prince drew his sword much farther up the path and lunged forward. Thankfully, the young man quickly brought up his sword, parrying the blow. "Shit!"

Gathering parts of her skirt and cloak in her hands to assure they didn't get caught, she took off, headed for the sounds of fighting. As much as she was sure Caspian's father had arranged for the finest Telmarine swordsmen to handle his son's training, she was equally quite sure he was no match for a High King.

Nearly tripping over a rock, she skidded to a stop, keeping steady with the help of a tree, and watched as a disarmed Caspian ducked a heavy blow which landed in the tree. He kicked the High King in the knee, sending him down on his arse, before turning to pull the sword from the trunk.

Quickly, the High King recovered, picking up a particularly nasting-looking rock as he stood. Raising his arm above his head, he went for Caspian, aiming.

Simultaneous shouts of "Peter, stop!" and "Caspian, stop!" rang out from the petite brunette and Rynne, bringing everything to a halt. Out of the trees came the other Narnians, and the High King—_the _King Peter—looked around slowly. Caspian pulled the sword free, pointing it at his attacker when he returned to face him.

"Prince Caspian?" the High King frowned, testing.

"Yes," Caspian nodded lightly, his breathing heavy. "And who are you?"

"Cas, you're holding _Rhindon_," Rynne told the Prince and as she expected, his knowledge of the legends kicked in, causing him to observe the lion head on the hilt and the engravings along the blade he held.

"High King Peter?" he asked, eliciting a small chuckle from the former.

"I believe you called," Peter stated, as Susan, Edmund and Trumpkin came over the small hill from their campsite, drawn towards the noise. Silently, they stood by Lucy, taking in the scene before them, not asking questions.

"Well, yes, but…I thought you'd be older."

"Well, if you'd like, we can come back in a few years," Peter offered, taking a teasing step back.

"No! No, that's alright. You're just…," his eyes trailed the group, lingering on Susan. "You're not exactly what I expected."

"Neither are you," Edmund added, looking at the Narnians facing them, particularly Asterius, the Minotaur, and Nikabrik, the Dark Dwarf. He had not forgotten their time in Narnia—_his_ time with the _White Witch_. Their kind had been amongst her trusted cause, fighting against Aslan and his faith.

"A common enemy unites even the oldest of foes," Trufflehunter spoke.

"Truer words are rarely spoken," Rynne breathed, her eyes locking with Peter's a moment, before being lightly nudged aside by a small figure—one that barely reached her knees. She smiled as Reepicheep stepped up, bowing.

"We have anxiously awaited your return, my liege. Our hearts and swords are at your service," he told Peter, causing the latter to smile.

A little ways away, Lucy leaned closer to her sister, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Oh my gosh, he is _so_ cute." Susan smiled, but it fell a moment later.

"Who said that?!" the mouse yelled, drawing his sword and spinning around, searching. Once he spotted Lucy, looking a little guilty despite her smile, he took a step back. "Oh, uh…your majesty," lowering his blade, he composed himself. "With the greatest respect, I do believe courageous, courteous or _chivalrous_ might more befit a knight of Narnia."

He sheathed his weapon with a flourish, making Peter chuckle. "Well, at least we know some of you can handle a blade."

"Yes, indeed. And I have recently put it to good use acquiring weapons for your army, sire."

"Good, because we're going to need every sword we can get." He rounded his gaze on Caspian, and it was clear that their little quarrel was not going to be forgotten.

"Well then, you'll probably be wanting yours back," Caspian stated, offering him the sword, his tone just as frosty. His eyes locked with Rynne's a moment, before he followed Peter, leading the group out.

Rynne left them their space, choosing to stay a few feet behind the two, where she was joined by Susan and Lucy. "Hello," Susan smiled warmly. "I'm Susan Pevensie, and this is my sister, Lucy."

"I know," she giggled, shaking the Queen's proffered hand. She was careful not use her magic as excitedly as with Caspian, knowing their history. "Rynne Kairos."

"Your red hair is pretty," Lucy smiled, tilting her head curiously, while Susan looked as if she'd only just noticed.

"It reminds me of someone," the Queen pondered aloud, making the skin on Rynne's neck bristle ever so slightly. _They wouldn't know…they wouldn't remember it as __**hers**__…_

"Perhaps someone from your reign, your Majesty?" Nikabrik spoke up, and looking behind them to find a badger and two dwarves, Rynne furtively sent him a pointed look.

"So, what are they like?" Trufflehunter asked excitedly, talking with Trumpkin and ignoring the Dark Dwarf's comment.

"Complainers…Stubborn as mules in the morning," the Red Dwarf grumbled, but the look on his face told his friends otherwise.

"So you like them?"

"Well enough."

Turning back to the path, Lucy and Susan smiled. _Dear Little Friend…_

_

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--Narnia's Tale: A Royal Return—_

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As they came out of the forest, the small group found a line of Centaurs on either side of the path into Aslan's How, swords raised to welcome the Monarchs home. In awe, the Pevensies stared at the stronghold, walking towards it with Caspian and Rynne, the Narnians behind them.

Smiling, the four Kings and Queens stepped forward together, without hesitation, and Rynne's hand found Caspian's arm, holding him back and allowing the Pevensies to go first. Then, slowly, watching ahead, the two followed.

Home.

That's what it felt like to them. Their smiles said it all.

Being surrounded by the Narnians, welcomed like the Kings and Queens they were. **This** was where they belonged, not some sitting in some dingy train station in England.

"What is this place?" Peter breathed, his fingers tingling with a peculiar feeling as they entered the stronghold to find Narnians making weapons all around them. Dispersing, the Pevensies surveyed and explored the underground base.

"They call it Aslan's How," Rynne explained, catching his eye. "It is sacred to the Narnians, for it holds a piece of your history within it. It isn't Cair Paravel by any means, but it is defensible."

"Our history?" he frowned, fingers drumming on Rhindon's hilt.

"That feeling in your fingers, the tingling sensation you acquired when stepping foot here…," she smiled, half-circling him. "It's Magic. As deep and old as Aslan, it comes from the _Stone Table_."

Shock painted across the King's, causing her smile to widen, but before he could ask anything else of her, his sister called for him from across the room. "Peter?" Susan stood in the doorway to another hall with Caspian. "You may want to see this."


End file.
